


War Drums and Jealousy

by Lady_Juno



Series: Lovebirds of Rivendell [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Goodbyes, Jealousy, Last Alliance, Love Confessions, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 22:56:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3746674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Juno/pseuds/Lady_Juno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darkness is taking Middle-earth, and Elrond has many concerns on his mind. One of them has silver hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War Drums and Jealousy

The ladies of Lorien seemed to find many more reasons to visit Imladris than they had before. It seemed that, every autumn, there was a relative or ally to visit who happened to be staying in Rivendell at the time, and nearly every year, the snows came "unexpectedly" and made it unsafe for Celebrían and Galadriel to make the return journey to their woodland home alone. Why the snows would be unexpected, when they came every year, Elrond wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Of course, it was becoming more and more dangerous to travel during any time of the year, nevermind winter. War was creeping into the green and quiet places of the world, and as the goblins and trolls became more numerous, and the orcs and dragons more bold, Elrond began to encourage his guests to either make the choice to remain in Imladris and fight for the Free Peoples of Middle-earth, or to return to their homes and protect their families. Darkness was spreading and deepening outside the Hidden Valley, and despite his renown as a Healer and Seer, Elrond was finding himself in a position where to deny the sword would be to invite disaster.

These were the things that weighed on the mind of the elven lord as he paced through the gardens one evening. The late autumn sun burnished the trees with copper and bronze, dipping the world in an orange-gold haze. War had not yet touched his home, a place of peace and healing. He wished it to stay that way. Elrond was so distracted by these dark thoughts that he almost didn't see the Silver Lady until he bumped into her. Hastily stepping aside to avoid that unfortunate incident, the lord bowed, only to notice that Celebrían was on the arm of _another elf._

"My lord," she murmured, and curtsied deeply. The elf at her side bowed, blond head lowered respectfully.

"My apologies, my lady. I should have been looking where I was going." Elrond forced himself to look at Celebrían, rather than her companion. If he identified the blond lord at her side, he might say or do something he would later regret.

"No, not at all. It's always a pleasure to see you, Lord Elrond."

Perhaps he was imagining the slight softening of her gaze, the warmth in her tone. Her eyes lingered on him a moment longer than politeness required, blue and bright with life. Then she turned to look at her companion, and Elrond glanced away.

"I must urge you, lady, to return home soon. Winter will be setting in, and I fear it will be a hard one."

_Wolves and bears, driven to madness by hunger and fear, herded with torch and sword into the Valley. The glint of weak sunlight off blood-stained armor, teeth broken and blackened by the evil tongues seldom hidden behind them, the lust for war and bloodshed in dark, wild eyes._

Elrond shook his head slightly, trying to clear it of the fell vision. Celebrían watched him with concern, and he hoped, selfishly, that the tender fear was for him.

"I had not wanted to believe it." Her words came soft on the breeze, and he wondered if it might not be for _herself_ that she feared. "Tell me it will not come to war, my lord."

"I cannot."

It was a solemn moment, which was broken by the awkward shifting of the blond elf lord on whose arm Celebrían's hand still rested. She released him, turning with an apology.

"I must go. I'm sorry. I…" Her blue eyes rested briefly on Elrond, then flicked back to her escort. "I must go." The lady's voice caught on the last word, and Elrond felt sure, just for a moment, that she was close to tears. Why, though, he couldn't say. His Foresight told him many things of the world, but nothing of himself, and nothing of the immediate present (which irritated him to no end).

"Celebrían!" The blond turned, almost as though to follow her, and Elrond couldn't stop himself from grasping the elf's shoulder--perhaps just a little harder than he should have.

"You will not address the lady so informal, sir," he said softly. "And when she desires peace, you will give it her, or face me in her stead."

The elf shot him an unnerved look, and Elrond realized that his companion was actually quite young. Probably the son of a member of his own court, or Gil-Galad's. Releasing the young lord's arm, he turned away and took a deep breath. There was yet much to prepare for. He had put off action for too long, selfishly hoping that he wouldn't see war again.

He avoided the gardens in the days that followed, keeping busy with orders and missives and formal requests to honor old alliances. The Men were rallying. The Dwarves were sealing their doors. Darkness was spreading across Middle-earth, and it was not in his blood to stand by and let the Shadow take all that was good and bright in this land. And perhaps, for one silver-haired lady, he would fight harder and longer than he would for anyone else. His brother was already long gone, his parents taken from him, his guardians lost to their own foolishness and honor. For his friends, his home, his love, he would fight. He wouldn't let this be the end. Elendil, king of Gondor, had called to Rivendell for aid, and Elrond would answer.

* * *

_My dearest Celebrían,_

_I will return, if I can. When I do, I will no longer hide behind the trappings of my station. I will not watch and wait and fail to act. If I fall in battle, defending the home I have built and the people I stand for, then know that I do so not only for the love of Middle-earth, but also for you. You are as starlight to me, pure and precious. I beg you not think less of me for saying such in a letter. If I said it aloud, I daresay I mightn't have the strength to leave the Valley. But leave I must. Know that my heart stays with you. I pray that we will see one another again, when the sun shines, and our land is green._

_Forever yours,_

_Elrond_

Celebrían's eyes ached. She had read the letter so many times already that she thought she could probably recite it by heart, but still her gaze returned to the top of the page and she began to read it again. _My dearest Celebrían..._ The words vibrated through her like birdsong, like a hunting horn, like war drums. Along every bone and nerve, she could feel the weight of them. _My dearest Celebrían._

She hadn't received the missive until after she had returned to Lorien. The golden leaves, the silver trunks, the winding paths, the musical brooks--nothing had soothed her. Nothing had calmed the fear that thrilled through her at every solemn comment on the state of the world, every worried glance the nobles shared when they thought she wasn't looking. She was the daughter of Lord Celeborn, the precious light of Lorien. She was to be protected at all costs. And now she disliked that protection as much as she disliked what they were protecting her from. How could she know for certain what dangers Elrond and his fellows were facing if no one told her?

_I will return, if I can._

If I can. The words terrified her. Even more so when her father bid them farewell, armed and armored with his finest warriors, leaving behind a skeletal force of guards to keep his kingdom safe--that's what he told them, at least. Celebrían knew, though, as her mother knew, that their real purpose was to hurry them to the Grey Havens if the Last Alliance should fail.

_If I fall in battle..._

If he fell. If he fell, he would not rise again. The world would lose one of its greatest Healers. She would lose much more.

She prayed. Celebrían prayed as she never had before, and watched each day for a sign, any sign, that the Shadow was losing strength. Any sign that her father would come back to them, victorious. That she could dare hope to see Rivendell and its lord whole and healthy again.

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **IMPORTANT NOTICE:** I'm looking for readers that would be willing to act as a test audience for short original works--I'm trying to generate content worth publishing, and extra sets of eyes would be very appreciated! If you're interested, please shoot me an email at c.inkypaws [at] gmail [dot] com, I'd be delighted to hear from you.


End file.
